


Generational

by hesitantlyhappy



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: A high school fic but with danger, Esme Squalor has a daughter and boy is she involved in the plot, Gen, Post-Canon, post-The End
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesitantlyhappy/pseuds/hesitantlyhappy
Summary: Beatrice Baudelaire II knew that attending Prufrock Prepatory School would be difficult. But, as school experiences go, being chased down a dark corridor by Esmé Squalor's daughter was abitmuch.A tale of generational divides, misplaced accusations of villainy, and learning to live with one's past.





	1. The Scupper at Supper

It is a rare thing for a young person to be excited to go to school. Even rarer is the instance in which they are arguing, loudly and with much conviction, that they want to go to a school despite the wishes of their guardians. And so, a young person arguing with three brilliant, if overprotective, guardians for their right to go to the newly re-opened Prufrock Prepatory School is nothing short of extraordinary. The Baudelaires were an extraordinary family indeed. 

“I know it’s difficult dealing with our family’s history.” Remarked the eldest Baudelaire, firm but reassuring. Whenever Beatrice was upset, she noticed that Violet always knew how she felt. On a better day she might have regarded this as empathetic. But this was not a better day, and Beatrice felt only as though she were being talked down to. Beatrice was a compassionate and intelligent girl, which usually manifested itself in great kindness. Unfortunately, it meant that in the rare event of an argument, she could point out the crux of an issue rather harshly.

“Stop saying that! I’m not you. And I’m not going to stay cooped up my whole life just because you grew up miserable!” Like many young people who get into arguments with their guardians, Beatrice regretted what she had said as soon as it came out of her mouth, although she felt as though it had been a long time coming. Sunny, who up until this moment had been avoiding the conflict by serving up desert, dropped her cake knife onto the table. Only seventeen, two years older than Beatrice herself, Sunny had always felt more like a big sister than a parent, and it made Beatrice feel terrible to see her upset. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she looked between the three and spoke once more.

“I’m sorry. I do understand why you don’t want me to go, given what’s happened to you. And I’m glad you don’t keep these things from me, really. But sometimes it feels like everywhere you went as kids is another place I’m not allowed to go without you fretting, even though nothing terrible has happened to me.”   
Klaus, who Beatrice guiltily noticed looked rather upset, adjusted his glasses and responded. “You’re right.” Violet went to interject, but he resumed talking before she could. “I think sometimes we’re more scared of what’s behind us than what’s in front of you. But that isn’t your fault, and it’s certainly not your responsibility.”   
Sunny nodded in agreement and reached over to squeeze Beatrice’s hand before looking up at her sister. “Violet, I know you’re just scared, but Beatrice is nearly as old as I am. I think she should be able to decide this.” 

Violet, who had been silent and stern faced up till this point, looked away and blinked back tears before replying wobblily – “It’s just- I promised not to let anything like that happen to you and…” Taking a deep breath in, Violet steadied herself and looked at Beatrice. “But what Klaus is saying makes sense - you can go. We’ll probably call you all the time, and annoy you with a lot of questions about the school, but you can go.” Beatrice practically jumped out of her chair with excitement and crossed the room to hug her eldest guardian, whose expression had softened somewhat.  
“Thank you, I promise I’ll stay in touch. And the facilities are brand new, the staff is well accredited, there’s a massive library,” Realising that she was rambling, Beatrice stopped and looked up at Violet. “And I really am sorry for what I said. To all of you”, she continued, releasing Violet from her grasp and looking towards Klaus and Sunny. “I was upset, but it was unkind.” She felt Violet’s hand placed reassuringly on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” the guardian remarked, “Most families don’t have to deal with this sort of thing. We’re an extraordinary family.” 

There is no miracle cure for familial disputes over dinner, and if there were the world would be much calmer and involve far fewer tantrums. But as Beatrice would discover that evening, the no-longer-youngest Baudelaire, Sunny, had come as close as it was possible to get, with the best coconut cream cake the peculiar household had ever had the pleasure of eating.

Later, in the room they shared in the sizeable yet cosy Baudelaire home, Sunny sat with Beatrice as the two poured over the leaflet for the rebuilt Prufrock Preparatory School. The staff, including a principal with a lengthy history in childcare and education, looked kindly and official. Although it is sometimes unwise and often rude to judge people on appearances, Beatrice had spent the past two weeks gathering as much information as she could on Prufrock Prep, before presenting the findings to her guardians over dinner. The information filled her with confidence that the school would be a fine establishment, though in retrospect she realised she should have given her guardians a little warning before announcing that she wanted to move to boarding school.

“Part of me wants to come with you,” Sunny remarked unexpectedly, her blonde bob blocking her face as she leant down to read. “But I’ve some old friends here I don’t think I could leave.” She looked up to face Beatrice and grinned – “Besides, I was a pretty terrible secretary whilst I was there, I doubt they’d let me back in.” Beatrice burst out laughing, almost spilling her hot cocoa in the process. When Sunny joked about her and her siblings’ past, it felt almost like breaking the rules. Klaus and Violet rarely found humour in what happened to them, which Beatrice always supposed was because they had been older at the time. Violet in particular treated it more seriously, and seemed to want to discuss it less and less as she grew. Beatrice was glad not to have been kept in the dark, but some parts of what happened to her guardians, like Violet nearly being married off to a man over twice her age, became more unsettling to Beatrice as she grew older and understood just how terrible things had been. 

She knew it was selfish of her, but sometimes she wondered what it would be like if she had been kept in the dark, simply being told a cover story about why three siblings were raising her, or being told nothing whatsoever. Of course, she could have no idea that she would very soon find out what kind of person this would have made her. She did not for a second imagine, in her anticipation to attend Prufrock, that she would meet the exact kind of person who had to dig the ugly truth up on their own.

“So when did you apply?” Sunny asked, looking up from the leaflet and towards Beatrice. Feeling a little guilty for not having kept Sunny up to date, Beatrice answered as she began undoing the two brunette plaits her hair had been in.  
“We got the leaflets the day you were on that trip with your catering class.” She looked across at Sunny, who was draining the last of her cocoa from her mug. “I wanted to tell you, but I thought I’d better do some research first, make sure the school was properly good before I even considered it.”  
Sunny nodded in understanding. “Well it certainly looks good – and they have a psychology class available in couple of years, if you decide you that’s what you want to do.”

Her mood having been brightened, as it often was when she spent time with Sunny, Beatrice’s eyes lit up as she began talking about her favourite subject – human behaviour. “And a sociology class! I don’t think you can take both, but either one would be really interesting.”  
“I’m happy for you.” Said Sunny, reaching over to hug Beatrice. A hug from a loved one can make most evenings, even ones involving an upsetting argument, feel a lot less worrisome. And so when Beatrice climbed up the ladder of the bunk bed to settle for the night, she was far less worried about Prufrock Preparatory School than she had been, and far less worried than she should have been.


	2. A Mystery in History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice meets a potential friend, a potential enemy, and experiences the social awkwardness of being a new student.

Several weeks later, when the Summer was turning to Autumn and free time was turning to term time, Beatrice found herself worrying for completely different reasons. Even when you are not being pursued by a fortune obsessed madman, school can be a terrifying thing. Although she loved her guardians very much, Beatrice still wondered what people would think when she arrived with not a set of parents, but three siblings helping her take her luggage off the train. And despite finding the two plaits she kept her hair in practical, she found herself fiddling with them every few minutes or so, wondering whether the other students would think she looked childish.

“Are you sure you can take everything from here?” asked Violet. Since their argument a while back, her and Klaus had made an effort to be less worrisome when it came to Beatrice, but the young girl could see that they were still concerned. She leaned over and took her suitcase from Violet, and her bookbag from Klaus.  
“I’m sure I can, but thank you.” Said Beatrice, leaning in to give all three of her guardians a hug, disregarding her self-consciousness about what people thought of her odd household. Not wanting to be late for their train back, they hugged her back tightly and exchanged heartfelt but swift goodbyes. As much as Beatrice knew she would miss them, she felt more free than she had done in a long time as she took the short walk from the bus stop to the entrance of Prufrock Prep.  
The school was almost unrecognisable as the crumbling institution Beatrice had seen in the old newspaper clippings once shown to her by Klaus – the bricks were not a worn grey but a warm brown, and the black metal arch she walked under as she entered did not read memento mori, but in vitae discimus, which Beatrice could tell from vitae said something about life.

“Learn in life…” The quiet voice beside her made Beatrice jump a little, and she turned to see a slim boy with dark, tight curls look back at her, returning the shock. “Sorry, was that outloud?”   
She nodded, and the boy seemed a little embarrassed, so she tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry about it though. I was just wondering what the arch said”  
“What? Oh, yeah, the arch. It says learn in life.” As he picked up his large duffle bag from the ground, Beatrice walked with him and continued the conversation.

“Do you know Latin?”  
“Bits. I really like languages, and most languages have Latin roots.” He explained. “I also have a bad habit of translating out loud.” He added, looking embarrassed again.  
“I don’t think it’s a bad habit at all,” tried Beatrice, “it’s a useful skill to have.” Having reached the entrance, she paused and looked around. “Do you know which way the dorms are from here?”   
“Oh!” said the boy, as if he’d just remembered something. “I thought I was just being forgetful, but you must be new. My name is Edwin, and the dormitories are this way.” He said, leading Beatrice down a long corridor, where she could now see plenty of other students going the same way. When they got to the end, Edwin stopped and explained – “It’s ten now, so they’ll want us to drop off our stuff and get our timetables. There should be a stack of envelopes with everyone’s name on them telling you which room you’re staying in and what your timetable is. Then we’re supposed to get to our eleven o’ clock classes. I might see you in class, uh…”  
“Beatrice!” Exclaimed Beatrice, realising that she hadn’t introduced herself yet. “My name is Beatrice, and thank you for the help.”

“No trouble at all.” Replied Edwin with a smile, as he used the hand that wasn’t carrying a heavy duffle bag to wave goodbye to her as he descended to the left staircase, where all the boys seemed to be going. Beatrice felt somewhat uncomfortable walking up the stairs on her own, which only worsened when she saw that all the girls in her dorm room were already chatting to each other in small groups.

Suddenly feeling very shy, Beatrice tried to be as unnoticeable as possible as she looked for her name in the pile of envelopes on the table near the door. Eventually she found her name and saw that her assigned bed was a bottom bunk near the window, with a small dresser nearby. From the timetable also saw that she had History class at eleven, and so she spent the next half hour quietly unpacking. A few people smiled at her when they walked by, but nobody made direct conversation with her. Around quarter to eleven, the students began to leave the dorms, presumably walking to their classes, so Beatrice followed suit, studying the map of the school that was on the back of her timetable.

After eventually making her way to the history classroom, Beatrice entered to see that Edwin was already sat down, taking out a large notepad from a backpack. When he raised his head and saw her, he waved, and Beatrice decided to take the opportunity and sit next to him.   
“I take it you found everything okay then?” he asked.  
“Yes, although it’s a little scary, this school is huge.”  
Edwin shuddered, replying “Tell me about it. I’ve attended for three years and I still get nervous.”

As Edwin was talking, Beatrice focus landed on a girl several seats ahead of her, who it seemed that several people were talking to at once. From behind, Beatrice could see she had pale blonde hair that fell just below her shoulders in waves. She seemed to be wearing the same burgundy uniform as everyone else, but something Beatrice couldn’t place her finger on stood out. She turned to Edwin. “Is her uniform different or something?” she asked, looking again at the girl.  
“Oh,” Edwin responded, “Yeah, she had it tailored to fit better. She’s nice enough but she’s always getting in trouble for stuff like that.” A little quieter, he chuckled and added, “One time she even got caught tweezing her eyebrows in drama club.”   
Focusing more as the girl turned to talk to someone behind her, Beatrice noticed that she had a silver bangle, and a face that seemed eerily familiar. “I feel like I know her, what’s her name?”  
“Her name is-”

“Good morning class,” bellowed a loud voice, preventing Beatrice from hearing the end of Edwin’s sentence. A thin, greying man wearing a deep brown suit (whom Beatrice recognised from the school’s leaflet as being called Mr Samson) had entered, looking pleasantly excited if a little weary. “I’m sure you’re all just ecstatic to be back in history,” he joked, earning a ripple of quiet laughs from the class, “But I need to do the register, so if you could all settle down, please.”  
He took out, opened a small file, and began reading.

“Macy Abbington?”  
“Yup.”  
“Edwin Argot?”  
“Here, sir.”  
“Beatrice Baudelaire?”  
“Yes sir.”

As Beatrice had feared and somewhat expected, the class whipped around in their seats to get a good look at their new classmate. As she had not expected, however, the girl she had been looking at seemed completely flabbergasted, nearly dropping her pen. Now she was sure she’d seen the girl before, but for the life of her couldn’t figure out where. As Mr Samson continued to rattle off names, Beatrice wrote the date, keeping an ear out for the register. But she needn’t have bothered. Because when Mr Samson read out “Gigi Squalor?” and was met with a crisp English accent replying “Here.” Beatrice instantly understood. 

Often, when something very shocking or very scary happens, it can be difficult to focus on anything else. When Mr Samson came over to ask Beatrice how much she knew about the Cold War, she found it difficult to recall how much she’d learned about the Tehran and Potsdam conferences, despite her best efforts. When the class was asked to make study cards with important dates on them, Beatrice had to redo one of hers where she’d gotten the dates mixed up. And when Edwin asked if she was coming to lunch, Beatrice had almost forgotten what lunch was.  
“Lunch?”  
Edwin frowned and tilted his head. “Yeah, it’s quarter past twelve. We have lunch, and then our last two classes. Are you alright?” Attempting to shake it off, Beatrice smiled and nodded.  
“Just a little distracted. Let’s go.”

Although it wasn’t the quality of something Sunny might make, the puttanesca served for lunch would be pleasant enough if Beatrice wasn’t so deep in thought. Did Gigi Squalor know about Beatrice, or the Baudelaire’s mother after whom she was named? How much did she know about VFD, and Esme Squalor’s treachery? Should Beatrice call her guardians, or would that only make them scared to let her stay at Prufrock?

“Are you alright, Beatrice?” Asked Edwin inquisitively. “You seem deep in thought.”  
“I figured out how I know that Gigi girl. It’s a very long story, but her mother and my guardians have some bad history.”   
Edwin’s expression changed to one of concern. “That certainly is troubling. But perhaps it won’t be a problem – I’ve always been a little intimidated by her because of how well liked she is, but I’ve never seen Gigi be mean to anyone, and she was nice enough to me when I did the school play last year. I’m sure she won’t have anything against you.” He assured her, not sounding so certain himself. Nevertheless, Beatrice nodded, trying to convince herself of her safety more than anything.   
“Edwin, is there a way we can make calls?” She asked, taking a sip of her water.

He nodded and flipped over his timetable to show Beatrice the map, pointing at a spot near the main entrance. “Just here, it’s a little phone booth. It’ll probably be free, nobody calls home so early.” Beatrice nodded and rose, gathering her bookbag.  
“In that case, I’ll see you in science.” She gave Edwin a nervous smile as she left the table and walked out of the cafeteria, noticing on the way out that Gigi Squalor, who seemed to have been watching her, averted her eyes and went back to chatting with her friends.  
Beatrice knew that she couldn’t ignore the fact that one of her classmates seemed to be Esme Squalor’s daughter, and she knew she had to make a call- but not to the Baudelaires. She tapped in the phone number and waited for a few rings before she was answered.

“Hello?”  
“Hi Uncle Lemony. It’s Beatrice. Do you have a minute?”


	3. Aspirations of Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice asks the wrong questions, but eventually gets the right answer with the help of Edwin.

Sometimes, what we think we want may not always be what is best for us. You may want to try a new and exciting dish, only to discover that you are deathly allergic to its main ingredient. You may want to attend a newly renovated prepatory school, unaware of the danger it would put you in. Such was the case of Beatrice Baudelaire, who very badly wanted to progress with the investigation she had been carrying out ever since calling her uncle several days ago.

After explaining her situation, and her reluctance to worry her guardians with the news, Beatrice had been advised by Lemony to put her acute empathy to good use. Do nothing but observe, he had advised, in order to figure out if she was simply shocked to see a Baudelaire in her class or if she actively disliked her.  
Although Beatrice had read enough psychological reports to understand how to make proper observations and gather data, she had scarcely had the chance to observe anything all week. It turned out that Gigi was only in her history class, unlike Edwin, who was currently sat next to Beatrice fretting about their science project.  
Beatrice had quickly come to trust Edwin – he seemed very kind, if a little shy. So she had told him the basics of her plan, hoping that his language skills might come in handy if Gigi ever said a word to Beatrice, which thus far she had not. And so, trying to be a good friend in return, Beatrice dragged her thoughts away from the investigation and back to the presentation they were supposed to be give next lesson on climate change. Edwin was so nervous about the whole ordeal that he had accidentally broken his pencil, and was currently borrowing one from a ponytailed girl sat nearby.

“I don’t mind doing all the speaking if you want, Edwin.”  
Edwin shook his head. “It’s marked individually, and we’re both supposed to speak. I’m sorry, I know we should be getting on with the diagrams, but I can’t stop worrying about it.”  
“Are you really that worried about the grade?” Asked Beatrice. “It only counts for a portion of the final mark, and I didn’t even think you cared that much about science.”  
Slumping back in defeat, Edwin fiddled with his pen and turned to face her. “It’s not just that. If I want to be a linguist or a translator, I have to get over this thing with public speaking. If I can’t do that, all my language studies are a waste of time.”

Pausing for a moment, Beatrice considered what she knew about fears and how people get over them. “Perhaps you should stop thinking of it as a test.” She suggested. “There can’t be more than fifteen other people in the classroom, and all of them have to speak to. You could consider this practice for when you are a linguist.”  
“That way it wouldn’t matter as much if I mess up.” Said Edwin, perking up.  
Beatrice smiled. “I know it’s easier said than done, but I think you’ll do just fine.”

With the two feeling more positive, the rest of the lesson went relatively quickly, and Beatrice managed to stop thinking of her plan for a full half hour. But when the lesson ended and it was time for lunch, she returned to her efforts. Practically the only thing Beatrice had managed to know definitively thus far was that Gigi was definitely avoiding her, and was constantly surrounded by a group of varying friends who made it very hard to see her face. Either she had noticed Beatrice watching, which Beatrice thought was unlikely given that she’d been fairly tactful, or there was something larger at play – she just had to figure out what. Another girl was currently whispering something to Gigi, but high school groups gossiped all the time, so there wasn’t much Beatrice could gather. Resigning herself somewhat, she allowed the rest of her lunch to pass by relatively peacefully, chatting to Edwin and eating her salad.

It was not Beatrice’s analytical skills, nor a slip up from Gigi, that revealed what was going on. It was, rather surprisingly, a comment made by Edwin near the end of the day. In history class, Beatrice was just thinking that perhaps she was over-worrying, and that if Gigi had some sort of agenda she wouls have executed it by now, when her thoughts were interrupted by Edwin nudging her.  
“Could you ask Mr Samson to go over the breakup of the Soviet Union? I’d do it myself, but I don’t want everyone to know I don’t know.”  
“That’s it!” muttered Beatrice, mostly to herself.  
“What?”  
“I’ll tell you later. For now I have some observing to do.” She replied, smiling at Edwin as she put her hand up to ask his question. 

You may notice that in social situations, such as asking a question in class or trying to spy on a potential enemy, it is much easier to ask somebody else to do it for you. This may be because of shyness, or because you want to avoid detection. And it was Edwin’s request that made Beatrice realise that the reason she had not been able to observe Gigi properly was that she was looking in the wrong place. She should have noticed that the ponytailed girl who sat on her table in science had been sat elsewhere there the lesson before, and that she had been behind Beatrice in the lunch queue several times, and that she had been whispering to Gigi at lunch when she thought Beatrice wasn’t paying attention. And sure enough, when everyone left history to return to their dorm rooms before dinner, Beatrice knew who would be behind her. She may not understand what was going on yet, but she knew she was being followed.

At the last minute on the long walk through the halls, Beatrice made a sharp left towards the telephone booth, so that the Gigi’s friend couldn’t keep walking behind her without giving herself away. Pretending to observe the instructions, Beatrice waited until everyone had left the corridor. She could still hear teachers walking down the other corridors nearby, so she hurriedly entered Lemony’s number. As the rings went on and on, Beatrice grew worried as sharp sounds of shoes against flooring became louder and louder. The call rang out to voicemail, so she settled on the quickest message she could think of as the sound of footsteps stopped.

“Lemony, call me back. I think we might be in a little trouble.”  
“Oh I don’t think we’re in a little trouble, _Beatrice_.” Said a sharp voice behind her, and Beatrice knew as she turned around that the sentence came from none other than Gigi Squalor, who she could now see had her arms folded and an intense expression on her face, looking every bit as terrifying as her mother.  
“I think we’re in a lot of trouble.”


	4. A Conversation Regarding Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice finally understands, much to her dismay.

There are certain occurrences, known as clichés, which often pop up in fiction but are not so common in reality. A cliché can be a scene, such as someone running to the airport to stop the person they love leaving them, or a character, such as a protagonist whose parents are deceased. However, some clichés are phrases which people almost never say in real life. One example that Beatrice Baudelaire found highly relatable was the phrase “What could possibly go wrong?”, but the example that will appear here is the phrase “This isn’t what it looks like.”

In stories, the phrase “This isn’t what it looks like” tends not to be sincere, and is instead a joke on the author’s part indicating that the situation is _exactly_ what it looks like. For this reason, even if someone does say it in real life, they are almost never telling the truth – which meant that Beatrice’s current predicament was a very rare one indeed.

Having already had the good sense to run as fast as possible from Gigi Squalor, who had been mysteriously spying on her for the past week, and the good sense to run into Prufrock Prep’s library, and the good sense to hide behind a shelving cabinet, Beatrice was wondering if her good sense was running out, because she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do. Having chased after her, surprisingly fast for someone wearing high heels, Gigi, now stood at the door of the dark room, had shouted the phrase “This isn’t what it looks like.” Even though she knew this was probably a lie, Beatrice was wondering what on earth was going on, and she was pretty eager to get some answers.

As often happened in worrying situations, Beatrice thought of her eldest guardian Violet, and how adept she was at handling dire circumstances. Violet would probably tell Beatrice to stay hidden and hope that Gigi went away, before calling her guardians and never stepping foot in that school again. But, Beatrice reasoned with herself, what Violet might _tell_ her to do was not necessarily what Violet _herself_ would do. Although fiercely protective of her family, Violet herself was very brave, and not very likely to simply hide from her problems. Deciding, finally, that she wanted to show some bravery herself, Beatrice stood up.

“There is a fire alarm on the wall behind me.” She said with as much boldness as she could muster. “If you try to hurt me, I will set it off, and every member of the faculty will be out of their rooms and on their way downstairs faster than you can say _‘why on earth did you have your friend follow me?’_.” 

Gigi raised her hands, as though to indicate her nonthreatening nature. She was slow and careful in her reply – “Okay. Can I turn the light on?” After a moment Beatrice nodded, and Gigi flipped a brass switch to the left of the doorframe. Now that her silhouette wasn’t completely shadowed, and Beatrice wasn’t crouched behind a cabinet, Gigi seemed a lot less imposing as she took a seat on one of the faded velvet armchairs and gestured for Beatrice to sit opposite.  
“I apologise for having my friend follow you,” she started, as Beatrice sat on the matching green armchair, “But I wasn’t sure how much you knew, and I didn’t want to give you any information that might hurt you. The thing is, I need your help.” 

Beatrice frowned. “You chased me down to get my help?” In the light and up close, Beatrice could see Gigi more clearly than she had done since first arriving at Prufrock. She was a pretty girl, who seemed to put a lot of effort into her appearance. Her facial features were delicate, and her long nose seemed to suit her in a way that Beatrice never felt her own features did. As she rested her hands on the round table between the two, Beatrice saw that her nails were long and well kept, as was her hair, which she could see from the very roots was actually a mousy brown that had been dyed blonde.

Beatrice made a point not to stare however, as Gigi nodded and explained, “I think I might be in danger, but I don’t know who from yet. I needed to get you alone.” She reached into an ornate school bag and pulled out a large red folder. “The week before I left for school, I was looking for a necklace to borrow in my mother’s room, and I found a whole file full of newspaper clippings.” She peered at Beatrice. “I’m guessing from your conversation’s with Snicket – again, sorry for the spying – that you know about VFD.”

“I do.” Beatrice replied as she leant back sceptically, her curiosity and caution at odds with each other. “My guardians told me about it. I _also_ know that your mother did a many treacherous things.”  
“Lucky you.” Spat out Gigi, suddenly looking annoyed. “Because I didn’t. I always thought that maybe my mother used to be ugly or something, because she never wanted to discuss growing up. I didn’t think she was a _criminal_ who pushed people down elevator shafts!” Feeling a pang of guilt, Beatrice awkwardly tried to think of something kind to say, but Gigi resumed speaking before she had the chance. 

“Anyway,” she continued, “Once I’d come to grips with all of that, which took a good while, I saw one thing in the folder that wasn’t a press clipping.” Gigi took out a small piece of paper and slid it to Beatrice. “This.” The words were all different colours and fonts, and seemed to be cut out from magazines. 

_“Keep yourself and your kid out of the way. I don’t appreciate the daughter of villains running around. She might run into an accident.”_

Reeling from the threatening tone of the note and extremely worried, Beatrice looked back up at Gigi. “This is terrible! What did your mother say? What are you going to do?”

“That’s the problem.” lamented Gigi, shaking her head. “She didn’t say anything. Well, not anything helpful. When I told her what I knew she went positively white with shock. Told me to never ever go poking around in her things again, and refused to talk about it. I’ve tried to bring it up, but she won’t acknowledge any of it even happened, she just tells me it isn’t relevant and that I’m safe. But I don’t believe her, and I’m sick of not knowing anything. That’s why I made copies of the newspaper clippings and stole the ransom note, so I could figure out who’s out to get me.”  
Beatrice leaned forward eagerly, completely intrigued. “And? What have you found out so far?”

As soon Beatrice she had asked the question, Gigi’s expression became worried, and her green eyes shifted to glance awkwardly at the door. “Would you like some tea?”  
“ _What_?”  
“There’s a kettle in the cafeteria,” she babbled, with a false sounding casualty, “I bet they don’t even lock the doors, we could probably-”  
“Gigi…” Said Beatrice slowly, getting the sense that she was avoiding the subject. “What did you find out?”  
Looking increasingly distressed by the second, Gigi turned back to Beatrice. “It’s just- it’s difficult. I’m not like- I really didn’t mean to scare you, I always get told I come off as intimidating, and...” as Gigi closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, Beatrice stayed silent, hoping to give the other girl time to collect herself. Gigi looked Beatrice in the eyes, and her face became grimly determined, like someone about to undergo painful dental surgery, or admitting to breaking their parent’s best vase. “One- I realised that the note says _villains_ , plural. And two, if the timeline I compiled is correct, I was born eight months after the Hotel Denoument burned down.”  
Not understanding the information she was being given, and feeling as though she was missing the point, Beatrice furrowed her brow. “Why does that matter?”  
Gigi sighed, before replying solemnly. “Because if you were worried about my mother being Esme Squalor, you’re going to be very troubled when you realise who my father was.”

When hearing about the ordeals that her guardians went though, Beatrice always had the private thought that it all sounded very exciting. It was not a thought she was proud of, and she would feel guilty whenever she thought it. Even so, for all the suffering they endured, her guardians lives had always seemed full of adventure, to the point where Beatrice felt that her own life was a little boring by comparison. Although she had always known that the tsuris which followed the Baudelaires was not the slightest bit exciting for them, it was only now that she truly understood how little fun it was to be in actual danger. As her stomach sank and her eyes widened, Beatrice, finding herself completely speechless, silently vowed to never complain about her life being boring ever again.  
She could feel the seconds passing as she said nothing, still in shock at the information, and Gigi looked positively terrified when she leant forward and spoke again. “ _Please_ don’t think I’m awful,” she pleaded, “I hate it too, I wish my father had been anyone else, and I’m sorry for dragging you into this.” Beatrice could see tears welling in Gigi’s eyes, and hear the crack in her voice as she continued – “But I _have_ to find out who sent the threat, and I can’t do it on my own. Please. Beatrice, I have nowhere else to turn.”

For a second, Beatrice almost found herself wondering again what Violet, or Klaus, or Sunny, might do in this situation. But they hadn’t been in this situation. They hadn’t been faced with a classmate asking for help despite her villainous family. Her guardians had, however, spent their childhoods trying to escape from Count Olaf. And it seemed that even though the man was long dead, Gigi was doing just the same. But she wouldn’t be doing it alone.  
Beatrice clasped Gigi’s hands and smiled. “Of course I’ll help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my way of answering (to some degree) the questions I had about life after The End. It's my first fic ever, so I hope people enjoy!


End file.
